April Showers
by pat weakley
Summary: In response to a request I am posting a Stormy Weather story that I had originally written for Moonstones Green Hornet anthology. Stormy runs into the Green Hornet when she returns to Detroit as a bodyguard to a young girl who decides to run away with her young lover.


April Showers

I

"Fancy meeting you here," says a low black velvet voice that sends shivers right down to my toes. I look up into aquamarine eyes that make my knees turn into jelly.

I force myself to remain calm, even though my first instinct is to find the nearest empty bedroom. "Hi, Mr. Reid." That's me, being nonchalant.

A slow white-toothed grin spreads across his face. "I thought we were on a first name basis, Stormy."

I answer his grin, with one of my own. "All right. Britt." I give him a long appreciative once over. Hadn't changed any, still tall, still broad shouldered, still moves like a tiger among the sheep. I don't mention the green mask. I'm pretending that I don't know and he's pretending he doesn't know that I know.

He scans the crowded room. Nobody notices the two of us holding up the wall. Most are too busy dancing their own Dance. "So what brings you to Detroit?" he asks.

"Babysitting."

An eyebrow lifts in question.

"The job title says bodyguard, but it's more like I'm making sure that Sweetcheeks doesn't get into any trouble or at least gets away before the cops come."

"Interesting. Who?" The grin gets bigger, the newspaperman in him relishing the dirt.

I lift my chin toward a model thin girl with long baby fine hair and endless legs bound up thigh high white patent leather boots. "April Showers."

"You're kidding…"

"Honest, I swear," I say, crossing my heart, "Her daddy's Melvin Showers. A real big whoop de do back in LA. He's here in Detroit on business and they brought me along to baby-sit April. I think he imports car parts or something like that."

"Or something like that?" Again the newspaperman; always after the facts. I think he's enjoying himself. Must be bored, no car chases here at this party.

I shrug, "I dunno really, except he pays real well, and it's the first time Uncle Jesse's let me out of the office in awhile."

"Oh?"

"You don't want to know. It's a long story involving a wedding cake and a tipsy bride who almost drowned in butter cream."

He laughs lightly, crosses his arms across his chest, making himself more comfortable. "Tell me more…," he purrs.

I sigh, leaning against him. Just so he can hear me better, you know. Music's a tad loud.

"You son of a b…" an angry young man's voice erupts over the music. His words end in somebody's fist.

A dog pile of several hot-tempered young men instantly forms at Sweetcheek's feet.

Britt sighs, and so do I. Time to get to work. Dammit.

"Okay, guys, chill," I shout into the chaos. Doesn't work worth a damn.

Britt wades in and starts hauling guys out of the pile by their shirt collars. One of the geniuses tries to smash a vase on Britt's head, but he stiff arms the guy in the chest, sending him staggering against a table loaded with goodies. Goodies and guy wind up in the same heap on the floor.

"Larry! Bobby! Stop!" Sweetcheeks squeals, stomping her little size five feet. "Stop it!"

Britt finally pulls the two young bulls apart. "What the hell is going on?" he demands.

"He shouldn't be here. His kind isn't welcome here," shouts one of the young men, a clean cut Ivy League type with short blond hair and baby blue eyes. I recognize him as Larry Wilson-Smith-Jones, the host of this party, and supposedly, Sweetcheeks' date.

I don't recognize the other kid, but I can understand Sweetcheeks being interested in him. I'd be interested too; if I was 18. He's got that whole dark, exotic look going on; long, dark brown hair brushing his shoulders, blazing dark chocolate brown eyes and a slender build that looks just fine in those tight jeans he's wearing. Must be Bobby.

"Bobby," says another young man. He grabs the boy's shoulder, "Let's split, man. It's getting too hot here."

"It's not over yet, Larry. April can date whoever she wants to," Bobby shouts, "You'll see, man. You'll get yours!" His friend tries to pull him away while Britt lets some of Larry's cooler headed buddies drag their pal away from the fray.

"Get outta here, you wetback! Go back where you come from!" Larry screams.

Bobby pulls himself out of his friend's hands. "You stupid idiot! I'm Potawatomi. _You_ go back where you come from."

Fist cocked back, Larry charges at Bobby, only to have Britt grab him by the shoulder.

"Enough," Britt growls. He looks over at Bobby and his friends and tilts his head at the sliding doors behind them, "Go," he orders in a voice that nobody argues with.

Only after they leave does Britt let go of Larry who shrugs his shirt back into some kind of order. Everybody starts sliding out the front door. A tall redhead with money written all over her sidles over to Britt's side, and grabs his arm. She looks down her long nose at me. "Let's split, darling," she says to him. "I'm bored."

I catch a quick flash of annoyance come over Britt's face before he replaces it with a bland smile. "Oh, course, Jessica," he says, "but I'm going to have to call it an early night. I have a full calendar tomorrow. I'm going to have to an early start on it tomorrow."

She pouts prettily. "Oh, pooh, Britt, I don't know why you bother. Don't you have somebody who could take care of that?"

"Uh, Britt," I say, before he answers Miss Got Bucks, "Thanks for the help. I guess I better collect April and take off too."

"No problem," he answers. He glances around the room, "I don't see her around," he says with a frown.

"She's probably in the powder room," I answer, but for some reason start having a bad feeling.

"Why don't I help you find her," Britt offers.

"Britt…" Jessica whines.

"Why don't you take a taxi home," he suggests, pulling out his wallet.

She grabs the wallet and pulls out a wad of bills from it, "I think I'll check out that new disco everyone's raving been about instead." She waves the money in the air, "I hope you don't mind," she says sweetly before gliding away.

"Cheap at any price," I comment.

"It wasn't your wallet," he grouses, half in jest.

We head off toward the back of the house. Most of the people have left, leaving a big mess for the help to clean up. "So she's why you're at this party," I guess, referring to Miss Got His Bucks.

"Partly," Britt answers.

"Oh? Tell me more…"

"Wilson-Smith-Jones does have a temper, doesn't he?" he says.

"Yeah?"

Britt shrugs, not expanding on his words.

We hear voices shouting out back and run out to check up on it. It's dark except for the glow from the Olympic size pool. Shadows are struggling between the pool's deck and a darkened pool house. Gunshots suddenly tear through the curses and shouting. My blood runs cold as I spot April shuddering over a body at her feet.

Britt runs ahead of me, in time to catch the white-faced girl as she starts sinking to the ground.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," she cries into his shoulder.

I kneel down at the still body at her feet and turn the young man's face up to the reflected light from the pool. It's young Wilson-Smith-Jones. I press my fingers against his throat even though I already know he's dead. The hole in the middle of his chest makes that mighty clear.

"Who did this?" I ask her.

Keeping her face in Britt's shoulder, she shakes her head. She starts crying. Britt lifts her chin up, making her look him in the eye. "Who did it?" he asks gently.

"Mikey. He's Bobby's best friend. He didn't mean to do it. I was leaving with Bobby when Larry comes out and starts threatening us with a gun. Mikey tried to grab it from him. They started fighting over it. I yelled at them to stop, but they wouldn't. And then, and then…" She starts sobbing, burying her face back into Britt's shoulder. With a big sob that shakes her entire body, she says, "And then the gun went off."

"I'll call the police," I say, as Britt rises to his feet with April in his arms.

Lawrence Smith-Jones is already in the living room when we step inside. "What happened?" he demands. Behind him I see April's old man. He turns white seeing her in Britt's arms.

"There's been a shooting," Britt says settling April down on a couch. Marvin kneels next to his daughter as Britt straightens up.

Lawrence Smith-Jones is a big man, almost as tall as Britt, but much heavier. He carries the extra weight like a heavy weight fighter. Britt places himself between the patio door and Smith-Jones, "Lawrence," he says very quietly, "It's Larry."

With a face as grim as death, Smith-Jones pushes himself past Britt. Britt stands aside, shaking his head sadly. Then he takes a deep breath and looks at me. "About that phone call?"

I nod and go hunt out a phone.

II

We spend the rest of the evening talking to the cops. There's not much that Britt or I can tell them, and April is pretty much too wiped out to tell them anything either. She just sits there on the sofa, mumbling her answers. I swear that any minute she's going to faint. I can't blame her in a way. It's not every day that someone gets shot to death right in front of you.

It turns out that she and Bobby had met at Venice Beach while he was going to school at UCLA. He spends his time split between LA and Detroit where he works summers at the Chrysler plant. She doesn't know where Bobby or any of his pals live.

April does manage to squeak out that she and Bobby love each other. I can tell from his face that Marvin's not too happy about that news. Lawrence Sr. paces the living room as we talk. He denies that Larry ever had a gun. It strikes me that he doesn't seem very satisfied when the cops tell him that they'll do everything to find Mikey.

I put April to bed when we finally get to our suite at the hotel and then squaring my shoulders, I head for Marvin's room, sure that I'm going to get a royal dressing down, if not out and out fired. I knock on the door, but I hear him loudly arguing with somebody on the phone.

"No, I've changed my mind. Smith-Jones' kid just got killed He's going to be out for blood. I don't want to have anything to do with your grand jury. I never should have agreed to it in the first place. My daughter and I are heading out on the first plane out of here. I don't care." He listens for a few moments. "Can you guarantee her safety? Didn't think so!" He slams the phone down.

Having no idea what's going on, I tiptoe my way back to my room. I have a feeling that I'm in way over my head. It's way too late in the evening for me to even think much about anything beyond burying myself deep into my bedcovers. Before I hit the sack, I figure I had better check on April.

So, what do I find, but April stuffing a bunch of clothes into her suitcase. This night is never going to end.

"Where are you going?" I ask her.

"To Bobby's," she answers.

"You know where he lives?"

She nods, still stuffing clothes into the suitcase.

"Why didn't you tell the cops?"

"I can't, they'll arrest him."

"You said that it was an accident, that this Mikey was the shooter."

She takes a moment to look at me with wide red-rimmed eyes. "I lied. It was Bobby."

"Was it an accident, or did you lie about that too?"

"No. It was an accident. They were fighting over me. Larry was saying some nasty things. Calling me all kinds of bad names. He was waving that gun all over the place. Bobby tried to get the gun away from him when it went off."

"If that's the truth, you need to tell the cops and get Bobby to turn himself in."

"I can't," she wailed, "You don't understand. Larry's old man will kill him. He's some kind of mobster. Bobby told me all about him. He controls all the car repair places around here. They have to buy car parts from him or he has people destroy their stores."

She hefts the suitcase off the bed and nearly stumbles under its weight. I go to grab it from her when I hear shooting. "Oh, gawd," I think to myself. "This has got to be the night from Hell."

April makes a move for the door, but I stop her. "We're going out the window," I tell her.

"But…"

"No buts, we're out of here."

"Daddy…?"

"I dunno, but I think we better split before whoever's doing all that shooting starts thinking about eliminating witnesses." I pull up the window, which luckily opens up onto a wide ledge.

April makes a move for her suitcase.

"Hell, no," I tell her, shoving her toward the open window.

We're five stories up. Not good. Neither of us can fly and it's too damn far up to jump. At least not without breaking legs, arms, back, etcetera, etcetera, all the way up to dead. No thanks. So we're going to have to make like wall crawlers and ease our way over to the next window. April is shivering in fear, but I try to put on a brave face. I don't think it convinces her anymore than it does me.

All I can say is that I'm glad that I'm wearing flats instead of my dress boots. The ledge isn't much wider than my big feet, and I have the uncomfortable feeling of having my butt hanging out over nothing while I'm hugging the hotel's brick façade like a long lost lover. I look over at April, who after ditching her go-go boots for some tennies, seems to be having a surprisingly better time of it then I am. She forces a shaky smile at me. "I did some rock climbing back in Joshua Tree," she explains.

Finally we get to the other window. It's open, but inside the darkened room I hear the noises of somebody making out. Wonderful. There's nothing we can do, but bull on ahead. Oh well. I ease the window wider. It doesn't make a creak, a sure sign that this hotel is a truly classy joint. Not that I think the couple would notice. They're so engrossed in their lovemaking: oohing and ahhing, groaning and saying all kinds of interesting things, that I don't think an earthquake could have disturbed them.

I squeeze myself in as soon as the window is wide enough. April comes through, needing a lot less squeezing. I tiptoe to the door leading out of the room when I notice that April is just standing there. I tug on her arm and am suddenly caught by the most amazing thing I have ever seen. Well, maybe not the most amazing thing, but it ranks high on the list. Never have I seen so much flesh moving in so many directions at the same time. The lovers in the bed have got to be three hundred plus, each, and there's not enough covers to cover all that jiggling white flesh. All I can say I'm glad that it's dark; otherwise my retinas would have been burned clean off.

Suddenly the woman's eyes open. She sees us and starts screaming like a banshee. April starts screaming for only God knows why and the guy starts to lumber off the bed. He catches himself on part of the bedding and crashes to the floor. I take advantage of that and pull April out the door. We're lucky that it's not a suite and find ourselves out in the hallway. The woman's screams and the guy's bellows follow us down the hall as I tug April toward the fire stairs. Doors open up behind us as people poke their heads out their rooms, wondering what the hell is going on.

We race down the stairs and crash through the door leading into an alleyway behind the hotel. We're totally out of breath, huffing and blowing, and there's two guys holding guns looking at us. Great. I pull April away before the guys react and we're off and running again.

"Don't you have a gun?" April yells.

"Gun?" I shout back at her. "I got a peashooter! I may be from Texas, but that doesn't mean I'm a damn gunfighter!" I pull on her arm, urging her to go faster. My legs feel like rubber, but I can't slow down. I can hear those two guys right behind us. We turn around the corner and there's a big, long, black car set across the entrance of the alley.

A black shadow runs past us as a tall man dressed in green steps out of the car. Thank God, the Green Hornet! I wrap my arms around his neck and give him a big kiss, on the lips. For a moment he's enjoying it, but then remembering he's supposed to be some big, bad tough guy, he pulls away.

"There're some guys chasing us!" I gasp, out of breath, not just from the running.

I hear what sounds like a big cat yowling and the thump of bodies hitting the ground, the walls, the ground again and then finally, a good solid crash against a bunch of garbage cans. Definitely not stealth, but very, very effective.

"Were…" I remark wryly.

"Were," he echoes. "What's going on?"

"It's a long story." I give him a shit-eating grin. "How about we go to your place and I'll tell you all about it."

He scowls.

I sigh. No luck.

Fred comes out of the alleyway, looking like he'd been on a Sunday stroll. Okay, I don't think his name is Fred, but I got to call him something. I can see police cars screaming down the street behind us.

"We have to go," the Green Hornet says. "Do you want to wait for the cops?"

Thinking about the room that we had invaded and the ruckus we had raised, I say, "Nope."

He opens the back door of the car and motions us to slide in. Too stunned by all that has happened tonight, April silently slides in first. I slip in next and then the Green Hornet. Fred gets into the front seat and the car starts up with a soft purr.

"Let's go," the Green Hornet says to Fred, "Dark and silent. I don't want the cops noticing us."

"Got it, boss."

The car pulls away, moving as smoothly as silk. The Green Hornet turns to me, "Now what is this all about?"

I tell him what April told me about Bobby, Larry and Larry's old man. He nods when I tell him about old man Smith-Jones' control over the auto repair shops in the city. I think he's knows about that already.

"Does your father know where Bobby lives?" the Green Hornet asks April.

"No, but…"

"But what?" he asks with a sharp edge to his voice.

"I left the directions to his place on the night stand next to my bed in the hotel," she says.

The Green Hornet frowns thoughtfully. "Do you remember the address?"

"Yeah," she says very quietly, "but without the directions…"

"Just give us the address and we'll get there."

She gives the Green Hornet the address and he says to his man, "You got it?"

"Yes, boss."

"Good. Don't spare the horses."

"Right, boss."

I feel a steady surge as the car speeds up. There's not a lot of traffic on the road, this late at night, correction, this early in the morning. Not even the milk trucks are out on the road yet.

"What about my Daddy?" April asks very quietly.

I can see the Green Hornet mull over his answer, then he reaches behind him for a phone that's on the shelf behind the back seat. Must be a direct line because I don't see him dial or call a mobile operator. He says to whoever's on the other end of the line, "There was a shooting in room…" he glances over at April.

"502," she answers.

"Room 502 at the Cadillac. Got anything?" he asks.

He listens on the phone for a few moments, then seems to be waiting for something. I try to lean in to listen, but the Green Hornet glares at me to mind my own business. He finally nods; getting whatever he information he's hearing. Then he sets the phone back into its cradle.

He sighs thoughtfully. "The cops were actually there on a prowler call," he shoots a questioning glance at me, then continues, saying, "When they noticed the open door to room 502. There were signs of a violent struggle, but nothing else."

"So maybe my Daddy's okay?"

The Green Hornet just nods, not saying a word. That way, later, you can't say that he lied.

We finally pull up to a bunch of row houses set along a street of nothing but row houses and a liquor store, that has locked its doors hours ago. It's a slightly shabby, but neat working class neighborhood with older model cars lining the street. A few houses have a light on in an upper floor. People are probably getting ready to start a new day at the factory.

"Number 3604 and a half," Fred says pointing to the building a few doors ahead of us.

There's a new Cadillac double-parked in front of the building. "They're probably not planning on staying long," he says, referring to the car.

The Green Hornet nods. "There's no room to park here. Drop me off and find a spot to park further along somewhere. I'll wait for you," he says.

Fred frowns. It's obvious he doesn't like that idea one bit.

"Look," April says. The door to 3604 ½ has opened and men are coming out of it. "There's my Daddy," she says. "And Bobby."

April's right. In the dim light of the slowly rising sun, there's Melvin Showers with a scared rabbit look on his face. Next to him is Bobby, looking like he's still spoiling for a fight, even though one eye is sealed shut by a nasty looking shiner. Escorting them are Smith-Jones, looking as grim as death, and a pair of plug-uglies. One of the plug-uglies get into the Caddie's driver's seat while the other one forces Bobby and Showers into the back with the wave of the gun in his hand. Smith-Jones pauses, looking around for witnesses then spots our car. He and the remaining thug pile into the Caddie as it takes off.

"After them," the Green Hornet says to his man. With a surge of power, we take off after the Caddie. The Caddie is a big, heavy car, so's the Green Hornet's. Both cars can't get up enough speed on the narrow road. The light ahead turns red, but the Caddie bulls on ahead through the intersection. A car narrowly misses it, and we narrowly miss that car. Fred jams on the brakes, then stomps on the gas almost immediately as another car goes screeching into the intersection. I swear I can feel our rear bumper being kissed by the fender of another car.

The Caddie climbs onto an on ramp and we're stuck tight on their rear bumper. It's still too early for rush hour traffic so the highway is mostly clear except for some eighteen-wheelers. I watch the speedometer needle climb as we're passing other cars like they're standing still. We're quickly closing the gap.

"Rockets, boss?"

"No. Not at this speed," the Green Hornet grimly replies.

Soon we're neck and neck with the Caddie. One of Smith-Jones' thugs rolls down a window and pops off a few shots at us. They ping against the Hornet's car's bulletproof windows. We quickly overtake a truck in our lane and are forced to pull back while the Caddie blares its way forward, squeaking just past the truck and the shoulder of the road. The thug is still firing at us as they pull past the truck.

Suddenly the wind snatches the gun from the thug's hand and smacks it into the windshield of the eighteen-wheeler as we're pulling around it. The heavily laden truck starts swerving and the trailer sways out of control. Fred guns the gas, barely missing the trailer. I look behind us to see the truck run off the road, plowing to a safe stop.

The Caddie is still ahead of us and we're out on the outskirts of town. We're gaining again on it and are soon alongside. Behind us I see the glimmer of police lights. There's no way they could catch up on us, but then I see more lights ahead of us.

"Roadblock," Fred says. "The trucker must have called in."

"We have to end this now," the Green Hornet says. "Ease them off."

We start crowding the Caddie onto the shoulder. Loose gravel is spitting out from under its tires. The Caddie doesn't have any more guts, its get up and go has done got up and gone. I can see smoke coming out from the engine compartment. It suddenly swerves off the shoulder and onto the grass on the side of the road. For a moment it lumbers up a slight incline, then dies. The rear passenger door opens and Smith-Jones climbs out with Showers in one hand and a gun in the other. He shoves Showers onto his knees in front of him.

"Think you won this time, Hornet?" He places the gun against Showers' temple as the Green Hornet steps out of the car. Smith-Jones' finger tightens on the trigger.

Suddenly Bobby launches himself out of the Caddie's back seat, bowling Smith-Jones down. The two men begin fighting for the gun. The Caddie's driver gets out and starts shooting at the Green Hornet who dives for cover. Then he spots Fred climbing out and starts firing at him too. Smith-Jones manages to free himself from Bobby, but the gun is nowhere to be seen. He takes off for the trees with the Green Hornet in hot pursuit. The thug starts shooting at the Hornet who is close on Smith-Jones' heels. Fred makes it out of the car, but gets pinned behind it by the shooter who spots him as he's making his move. April gets out of the car and heads for Bobby and her father who are trying to help each other up. I decide to take off after the Hornet and Smith-Jones, for no other reason then that I don't have anything else to do.

The Green Hornet is out of the shooter's range by now, but I'm not. He starts shooting at me and I'm hotfooting it for cover as fast my feet can take me. The shooting suddenly stops and I take a moment to see that Fred is very efficiently taking care the shooter. Ahead of me I see Smith-Jones holding the Green Hornet off with a big tree branch in his hands. He's swinging that thing around trying to knock the Hornet's head off. The Hornet is dodging and twisting under Smith-Jones' swings.

"Hey, butt face!" I yell at Smith-Jones. He stops what he's doing to stare open mouthed at me, giving the Hornet the break he needs. A quick right cross and Smith-Jones is in dream land.

"Boss," Fred comes up behind us. "The cops are getting too close. We have to leave now."

The Green Hornet looks at me. "Miss Weather, I'm sure the police will be glad to give you a ride back into the city."

"But…"

"You're needed here," he says, "The police are going to have a lot of questions to ask. I'm sure that with your cool head, you'll be able to give them those answers."

'Cool head', my foot. "Just enough to give you a head start?" I ask.

"The longer, the better, Miss Weather," he says with an amused look in his green eyes.

I grin back at him. "Glad to oblige."

III

So how did it all turn out? Well, Bobby's definitely facing jail time. He never should have taken off after shooting Larry, but the witnesses did confirm April's story and as did the ME's report, so he may wind up being a short timer. April swears that she is going to wait for him as long as it takes.

As for Marvin Showers, it appears that he was shipping substandard car parts from Hong Kong for Smith-Jones who was then forcing the local auto parts stores to sell them as the genuine article. He's made a deal with the local D.A. to turn state's evidence in exchange for a lighter sentence for his part in Smith-Jones' scheme.

And the Green Hornet? He, of course, remains at large.


End file.
